American Magic
by FiannaWarriorofEire
Summary: There are troubled times heading towards America. What with witches for neighbors, Dark Arts Terrorists, trouble in Britain, and teenage hormones Daniel is in for an interesting first year at Notre Dame.


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Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim to own any of the Harry Potter universe. I am not receiving any sort of monetary compensation for my usage of the Harry Potter universe. Harry Potter is the sole property of J.K. Rowling. However the ATSM, UMSA, Texas Tornadoes, Arkansas Horntails, Saran Nemini, and the Archer family belong to me. Wichita Falls, Texas is a real city. Any resemblance of the character to real people from this city is entirely coincidental.

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Author's Note: All right, I got tired of people constantly griping about the American exchange student phenomena. So I decided to write a fic that took place solely in America. There might be a few cameos later from some of the Harry Potter characters later. 

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Chapter 1

It was due to be a pleasant day. A very pleasant day actually if all went according to plan. Saran thought this over as she read her newspaper and drank her milk. Biting her lip, she placed the newspaper on the table. She took out a pen and bit the top in thought. Finally coming to a decision, Saran circled two items. With a satisfied smile she watched the ink disappear. Yes, it would be a fine day indeed if the Houston Tornados beat those be-damned Arkansas Horntails in the Quodpot matches today.

Saran Nemini lived in a very normal town and on a very normal street. There was nothing unusual at all about where she lived. As far as Saran knew, she might as well be the only witch living in Wichita Falls for all the boring monotony that frequented the town. Saran's house looked very normal (agreeing to the letter with the federal guidelines). Blue siding covered the small house. Picturesque flowers dotted the window ledges. Monkey grass lined the sidewalk and the lawn was immaculately kept up. Perhaps a little to immaculately but that was all right. The neighbors didn't see any reason to question if it was kept up. Some had tried to catch her at so they could report excessive watering but to no avail. In the driveway was a beat up old 86 Ford pick-up truck. This was understandable. There were several people who sacrificed what they drove for a nice house. The driveway led up to a chain-link fence. This fence surrounded a very well kempt backyard. This was where the neighbors most often saw Saran working. Sometimes she would be working in her garden (which had the strangest looking plants. But what can you expect for foreign imported fauna?). Sometimes she might be seen going in and out of the storm cellar that the neighbors assumed connected to the basement in some way. Several claimed to have seen her out there at night. Her exotic plants explained that away of course.

Yes, all was good and normal. Nothing to see here. Of course, many wondered at the fact that very few (none at all now that they thought of it) had ever seen the inside of her house. Though Saran was rather private. That was surely it. She just didn't want to be bothered. If any of Saran's neighbors had seen the inside of the four-room house, they would have quickly abandoned the preconceived notion of normalcy. There was no TV first off. Where a TV might normally have been, there was instead a giant radio. Bookcases lined walls in several rooms. This would have been all right as long as one didn't read the titles. These were books on any number of subjects ranging from _Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble: Freakishly Advanced Potions _to _The Medea Guide to Divination_. In each of the four rooms there was always a fire going. In the living room, the fire was a silver color. It was for business uses only. In the kitchen was a green fire that ironically enough kept kitchen from getting to hot while Saran was cooking. In Saran's bedroom was a blue fire for personal use. In the guest bedroom was a gold traceable fire. This way, Saran could monitor any calls her guests made. Contrary to popular opinion, Saran actually had several visitors...they just never came in the front door. There were several odd paintings in the rooms as well. One was a picture of the battle of the Alamo. The figures were rarely ever fighting though. The Mexican army was often trying to give Saran advice (in Spanish no less) on how to cook supper via the frequently irate portrait of - well - Saran wasn't quite sure who it was of. It had come with the house. Because of Saran's limited Spanish, she only ever understood them when they were calling her an idiot and told her she must have learned to cook from a cow. The Texan army was usually off in the guestroom. Here there was a picture of an Elizabethan style ball. There were also a few portraits. One was of an old man that Saran didn't know. He was usually asleep most of the time. Another was of Saran's niece, Patricia (aka Trish). There were no pictures in Saran's bedroom of course. She had a hard enough time dealing with the complaints of the ball dancers as it was. A raven, by the name of Morrigan II, had free range of the house. 

Saran rolled her eyes at the Santa Anna who was currently yelling at her Spanish. She knew from some of her niece's schoolbooks that the man did know how to speak English. However broken it was, it would certainly be better than what he was doing now. She thought little of this though as she hurried to get ready for work. She donned her usual uniform, a black blouse with black pants and black shoes. She picked up her departmental blue robe (the wand was already in an inside pocket) and walked out the door. She rolled her eyes at her almost-to-manicured-lawn as she walked briskly to her beat up truck. Of course, the outside had to be the very quintessence of normalcy. It was all part of the rules.

"Oh Sar-aann!" A voice called.

_Shit..._Saran thought. She inwardly cringed. _God bless it...and I had almost made it to my truck..._ Saran plastered an annoyed smiled onto her face as she turned around to face the voice. 

The voice belonged to a plump sort of woman. She was always suspicious of Saran ever since she moved here. She just didn't seem right. The woman had curly brown hair and wore frumpy clothes. If only she had a pair of Oxfords and was driving an Etsel, she probably could have fit into the 1950s very well. She shoved her 11-year-old son towards her fancy car. Saran had no idea what kind it was. She simply knew her own because the name was in the owner's manual. She tried to stay as far away from Machy (slang for Magically Challenged) things as she could. Saran stood where she was with her keys in her hand. Her body language screamed of being in a hurry and having no inclination to "chitchat" with the frumpy woman.

"Why, hello Mrs. Archer." She said through gritted teeth.

Mrs. Archer didn't seem to notice as she went on, "How are you today, Saran? It must be awfully cold where you work if you have to take such a long coat in the middle of July. Where is it you work again?"

"Surely your memory is not so bad as all that, Mrs. Archer," Saran said trying to insult the annoying Machy away, "I'm positive that you asked me that question a few days ago. I'll answer you the same. I work downtown." _Come now Archer; give me a bit more credit than that. I'm not so stupid as all get out._

"Ah, well...I was just taking young Danny here to see the new exhibit at the museum. He's simply thrilled! Danny here is quite the young historian!" Mrs. Archer said exaggerating a tad. She loved to proclaim her child's graces to those who had none.

Saran looked over to "young Danny." Actually, the boy couldn't have looked less thrilled. Saran smiled to herself at what she imagined Daniel to grow up to be. Not everything that was odd on Lucile could be solely blamed on Saran.

"Well, that's very nice. But I really must be going." Saran didn't give Mrs. Archer a chance to say anything else as she practically jumped into her truck.

Her truck backfired once as she turned it on. With a few protesting gurgles, it backed up out her driveway. Saran winked at Daniel and then set off towards Downtown Wichita Falls. She turned her radio on. She had gotten in her truck quick enough to catch the beginning of the Witching Hour (non-stop hits followed by some random talk show about Machy Awareness Programs). Saran was sure driving was probably a better experience if you had a better car. One would think that the federal government of the United Magical States of America would give their employees a better mode of transportation. But no, it had to be strictly by the letter. No apparition since it could be traced. No Floo since Dark Arts terrorists could easily get through. No CST since it was not widely distributed among the public and could also be accessed by Dark Arts Terrorists. So that left driving to work in one of the most Machy ways possible. Really, it wasn't as if some Dark Arts terrorist could just drive himself up to work either. It was a pity that the UMSA was coming to this. 

Saran took her wand out of her inside pocket as she pulled into the parking lot next to a dilapidated old building (hey, there weren't any laws about messing with traffic signals now were there?). She headed up toward the old building. Of course, the witch did not see an old building that was about to collapse. She saw instead a towering white building. Saran went through the revolving door and past the goblin security just in time. For as she disappeared into the building, who drove by but dear Mrs. Archer and her son.

Daniel was not having as splendid a day as his Saran was. His day had started with his mother yelling at him to get up, his father yelling at him about...well...Daniel really wasn't all that sure what he had been yelling about. He assumed it was pertaining to the broken lamp in the living room and why there were bits of the shredded shade in his sandy hair. Then his older brother, Michael, shoved his face into his cereal while both parents were out of the room. Daniel was starting to loathe summer vacations. Michael went to college at Tech. Since it took eight hours total for a round trip, he didn't come home very often. So of course, Michael made up for lost time whenever he was here. But that was usual stuff. Today was going to be especially unpleasant because of some history exhibit his mother was taking him to. Now don't get it wrong, Daniel did like history. He just didn't like the history his parents liked. Daniel was more into mythology and the era of mankind when wars weren't won by pushing a trigger or button. His parents thought his head was in the clouds. They were constantly worrying about having raising their wonderful child wrong. What does the world need another dreamer and fool for? They tried anything that came to their attention to wrench "young Danny" from the holds of such a silly topic. So Daniel had been dragged out of the house at the ungodly hour of 8:00am and was now in the family minivan listening to News Talk 820. 

Daniel was reflecting on his morning so far when they past by a building he didn't recall seeing before. It was a towering white building with a sign hanging over the door: _Texas Department of Magic - Branch 13_. Now that was certainly unexpected.

"Mom," he said cautiously (his parents weren't entirely found of his oddities), "Did you see that building back there?" 

"Which one dear?" 

"That big white one. The one that had a sign that said _Texas Department of Magic_ on it." 

Mrs. Archer screeched to a halt at the stop sign. Luckily no one was behind her.

"Don't be silly. You know there is no such thing as magic." Mrs. Archer said with a patronizing smile.

"But it sa-..." Daniel started to say.

"Not another word of this nonsense, Danny!" Mrs. Archer said in her danger (you know, the really quiet voice parents use to warn you that your treading on extremely thin ice) voice.

Daniel did as he was told. He said nothing else of the strange building. He thought about it constantly though. Much to Mrs. Archer's disappointment, Daniel couldn't have said anything about what he learned form the "simply fascinating" exhibit on Civil War sofas.

Saran, of course, knew nothing of what had happened outside of the Department Building. Saran proceeded up to her office on the fifth floor. She waved at and greeted ("Oh, how are you doing Sheila? Those feathers still haven't gone away, huh?") a few people along the way. No one in particular though. Saran was not exactly on friendly terms with most of the floors. Saran was superintendent of the ATSM (All Texas Schools of Magic). Most of the people here had families and children of school age. So of course, they blamed her for everything that went wrong. For example, Saran had final say on all new teachers. According to the stereotypical doting parent, it is never their sweet child's fault that he/she/it failed. It's obviously because that horrible Arithmancy teacher hates little Jimmy. Therefore, it is ultimately Saran's fault. Miss Nemini should have realized the teacher was not fit to handle Jimmy. Miss Nemini should have looked further into their background. Miss Nemini this...Miss Nemini that...

Saran cringed as she opened the door to the fifth floor. She could hear the howler from here. "HOW DARE YOU THINK THAT A VAMPIRE IS A SUITABLE TEACHER! OBVIOUSLY YOUR MUCKY HAIR IS STIFLING YOUR BRAINS!" It went on further but there is no need to record obscenities.

_Now that really was a little much...my hair isn't mucky...it's just oily. Blame my parents for that one,_ Saran thought as she walked down the hall to her office. It was true. Saran's raven black hair was genetically oily. Apparently it was some trait from her father's side. She usually had it tied in a braided bun under a blue bandanna. Saran tried potion after potion to get her hair to at least have some semblance of normalcy. She'd even tried a few charms but all that got her was red spiky hair for a week. Her hair wasn't the only thing mentioned in the howlers she got almost every week. Often times her skin called everything from "sickly pale" to "damn sallow." She was often called a closet werewolf because of her amber eyes. That was going a bit far as well. The amber had come from a transfiguration class gone wrong. Saran was just so poor in transfigurations at the time that she hadn't felt it safe to undo the damage. Besides, after 15 years she had gotten quite used to it. Thankfully, the wonderful parents only rarely called her a giant (come on now, she was 6'3") and emaciated (140lbs).

Saran opened the door to her office. Her office consisted of two rooms actually. The first was where her new assistant, Jonathan Bell, worked. It was a moderately sized room. The walls were white and had pictures of his family hanging on them. A few chairs lined the wall for any that might be waiting to meet with Saran. The desk centered in the room was very neat and tiny with little bins for almost every category of paper work imaginable. She smiled at Jonathan. He was standing over the incoming mail bin on his desk. He, in turn, was glaring a black scorch mark on his desk. He looked up at Saran.

"Figured I would save your the trouble, Miss Nemini." Said Jonathan, his frown turning into a satisfied smile.

"Y'know Jonathan, I've recently acquired a shedder for those things. That way I don't have to clean up scorch marks on my desk." Saran felt a little sorry for him as his smile turned into a frown again. "My shortcomings are also not shouted for the entire building's enjoyment. But, I do applaud the effort." She walked to the second door and opened it. She was about to walk through when she turned around again and said for the fourteenth time since Jonathan had been hired, "Oh and Jonathan? You can call me Saran." With that said, she closed her door and let out a snort.

Saran walked in and threw her robe on the coat hanger (which by the way earned her a very indignant sound from it). She sat down behind her desk. It was a very cluttered desk. She was glad Jonathan hadn't yet had a reason to come in here. She hated it when anyone tried to clean up her mess. It was all very organized in her opinion. Like the adjoining room, her walls were white. Instead of having pictures of family, she had various awards and degrees hanging on the wall. There was a bookcase on the right wall. It was filled with volume after volume on the various magical schools of Texas. The books contained everything from students and teachers (current and old) to cafeteria food and clocks. There was a window at Saran's back. It showed Downtown Wichita Falls. That in itself was one reason she kept it to her back.

Saran sifted through the new mess on her desk. _Now here's what I've been waiting for,_ She thought smugly as she picked up a rather large set of stapled papers. She put the letter release form off to the side for the moment. It was the list of prospective new students for the upcoming year. Saran rifled through them. All the major schools (The Stockyard Academy, The Lubbock Institute of Sorcery, The Alamo School, etc.) were getting their normal amount of new students. The smaller schools had a slight increase but nothing to worry about yet. Saran finally got to the school she wanted. Yes, there it was, The Notre Dame School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She looked up near the top and started to grin like mad. There, in plain bold black script, was the name Daniel Archer. 

Only very few times was Saran so enthusiastic about her job. Don't take it wrong, Saran did love her job. It was by far one of the most interesting of all that didn't involve the risk of suddenly growing horns. Saran couldn't wait until the owls were sent out pending the signing of the release form. Having finally found the form again in the pile of papers, she signed it was a flourish. She happily stuck the form in the outgoing mail bin (one of the few concessions she had made to Jonathan's "new system"). It disappeared and Saran leaned back in her chair. The only thing that could make this day any better would be if the Texas Tornados beat those be-damned Arkansas Horntails.

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End Author's Note: So, what did you think? Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. Please, no flames.


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